


Dizzy

by TheWiseMansFear



Category: SolyceAlterra/ZevCaspian
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:40:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27052819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWiseMansFear/pseuds/TheWiseMansFear
Summary: These are ocs my friend and I have made for Tiktok. For more of them check out the hashtags #solycealterra and #zevcaspian there!
Relationships: ZevCaspain/SolyceAlterra
Kudos: 1





	Dizzy

Solyce swayed as the ship docked. It had been a long trip and he was more than ready to get off the water and into a real bed. They were in harboring on Circinus this time, which meant an ideal climate for himself and Serafino. The islet was perfect for sunbathing and quiet meditation and though he would likely make no money with his doctoring here, he was pleased.

There was a particular stretch of sand he liked to dance on, sheltered by tall rocks and hard enough to get to, to ensure he was left alone. 

Shouldering his bag, he looked back at his cabin one last time, assuring himself that everything was as it should be. And, as was typical, it was just as he’d determined that all was as it should be, that a commotion broke out above him. 

He was used to the noise, to the banging and shouting and crashing of waves. Moreover, he was accustomed to the battering of boots to and fro. But there were certain frequencies these things occurred at, and when they strayed from the usual melody, it boded ill.

Nothing about what was going on now was in tune. 

It was Serafino’s voice that he picked up first, loud, commanding, alarmed. The words were muffled but he distinctly heard, “get him out of the water!” 

__ Panic bloomed in his chest, bright and shocking. Who was in the water and why? Why did his brother sound so terrified about it? He dropped his bag and bolted, nearly colliding with Malik on the way up the stairs.

“The captain,” the boy explained, over-loud and tremulous, “fell and hit his head.”

_ Hit his head _ , was an understatement if the kid’s upset was anything to go by.   
“He slipped and--”

“He’s in the water?” Sol asked the question but was already pushing past his crewmate. “Serafino!”

His brother looked up and their eyes met from across the deck. Many things passed between them that way, none comforting. Kilyn was leaning over the rail. Killian was next to her, looking as if he was going to come out of his skin. 

“Malik, grab my bag,” he ordered in the direction of the stairs before marching forward. “What happened?”

“Zev was on the rail trying to get to the dock and fell. He went into the water.” The recap was quick and precise. “Malik says he hit his head on the way down.”

“For fucks sake. That’s what the fucking gang-plank is for,” he snarled, moving for the rail.

Serafino caught his arm. “You’ll just be in the way.” 

He wanted to argue, but knew his brother was right. “How long has he been under?”

“Not long, we--”

“Did they get him?” Malik asked, appearing at his elbow, frantic. “Why haven’t they got him yet?” 

Fino took a steadying breath, but the answer came from Kilyn.

“Have him,” she shouted, jerking her hands upward. 

Water washed over the deck, captain with it and Solyce was by the man’s side before it receded, hands searching and heart pounding. He needed to breathe, but more than that, he needed Zev to breathe. 

“Captain.” 

No response.

He pulled the man’s earlobe, not wanting to shake him until he knew better the extent of his injuries. When that failed, Sol tilted his chin to clear his airway, then bent over him, listening. “Captain?” 

There were people around them, voices. Sol didn’t hear them. All there was, was the deafening silence oozing from Zev’s mouth.

In all the hundreds of scenarios he’d entertained over the last few years, not one of them had played out like this. He pinched the captain’s nose and took a deep breath, pressing their lips together without hesitation, pushing air into his chest. The first time he put his mouth on Zev’s was supposed to have been special, not terrifying, not desperate, not  _ this _ _. _ . 

It took four breaths to persuade Zev’s lazy lungs to function again. Solyce would have given him hundreds more. Would have given him  _ anything _ , really. The world was already so lacking in good men _.  _ It could hardly afford to lose one.

“Captain?”

Gray eyes fluttered open and Sol couldn’t even take the time to be relieved. Instead, he hefted the elf gently onto his side, inspecting the large, purpling knot on his temple while the man wretched up water. 

The noise of the others finally began to filter back in. Concerned, frustrated, too loud. One though, above the rest, reached out, familiar and firm. 

“What do you need us to do?” Fino questioned, quieting the rest with his rare  _ I’m in charge  _ tone _. _

“One minute,” he answered, moving his hands along the captain’s arms and downward, checking for obvious breaks. Coming away with nothing serious, he shifted attention to his patient’s face, meeting eyes that were struggling to hold a focus.

Fear tried to derail his thoughts, but he put it in a box and set it aside. If the captain had gone blind... Well, they’d deal with it. They’d find a real healer. He’d get the money, even if he had to crawl back home and marry some sylph princess to make it happen. 

He held up a hand and moved it across the man’s field of vision. “You hit your head,” he said, if only to give the man something audible to latch onto. “Can you see?” He waggled his fingers. 

The man groaned and shut his eyes. “I’d rather not,” he muttered, “if I’m being honest.”

Sol smothered a smile. Unprofessional to grin like a fool while a man lay half drowned in front of you, but he was just very  _ glad _ . Once it was properly contained, he looked to Fino. “Get him to his quarters, I’ll see to the head injury there.” 

Despite their vast array of dysfunction, the crew’s ability to get their shit together was praiseworthy. Serafino didn’t even need to relay the order, Killian and Malik having already hefted the captain gently upward, supporting him beneath either shoulder. Sol would have preferred they simply carry his entire weight, but he suspected the captain himself had protested the assistance. 

One had to pick their battles with Zev Caspian and Sol was too relieved that the man was conscious enough to fuss to raise one of his own. As the trio shuffled away, he picked his bag up from the deck where Malik had dropped it and hurried below to find Ulrich.

The human was hovering in the galley doorway, eyes wide with concern. “What happened?”

“It’s alright,” he assured, slipping by her to peruse the shelves. “The captain hit his head. I need a bucket and some water.  _ Separately, _ please. Do we have tumeric? Ginger? He’ll have a headache.”

“Are you sure he’s okay?” she questioned hesitantly as she collected the things he’d asked for. 

No. He wasn’t. That was why his heart was pounding hard enough to make his hands shake. Ulrich would notice. She probably had already, if the worry in her expression was anything to go by. There was nothing he could do for a brain bleed and not much for a skull-fracture, either. 

It had been different on the battlefield. He’d been the best they had because Salamanders didn’t possess green magic. But now? Here? Zev could have had his pick of magic users. The ship needed a real healer, some Fae with abilities. Not him, who was only here because his brother had won him the captain’s pity. Now the man may be paying for it with his life. 

“Here.” An empty bucket was pushed at his chest. “I can make the painkiller and send someone up with it later,” Urich offered softly. “Did you eat today?”

“What?” 

“You’re pale.”

_ Had _ he eaten? 

“I’m not the one who needs worried over,” he muttered, toning down his usual brusqueness, something he  _ only _ did for her. “The captain won’t be going ashore tonight. Can you make him something light with what we have here? Or you can send Malik for--”

Her hand was surprisingly heavy on his shoulder, grounding even with the incessant bobbing of the ship. “It’s okay.”

“Of course it is.” He patted her hand and headed for the door, purposely misconstruing her comforts into queries for the sake of his pride.

She let him.

The captain was sitting on the edge of his bed when Sol arrived, head in one hand, the back of the other pressed against his mouth.Killian was standing a foot or so away, leaning against the wall, hovering without  _ hovering _ . Malik was at the foot of the bed, bouncing lightly on his toes and pulling at his fingers. Serafino, who’d been standing outside, had followed him in, a thoughtful shadow. 

“I can take it from here,” he said, looking at Killian and nodding toward the door. “You and Malik should help with the docking.  _ Use _ the gang-plank this time.” 

Killian straightened and opened his mouth, probably to snarl at him about giving orders, but, as if sensing looming conflict, the captain lifted his head, eyes-squinted, and waved his freed hand in dismissal. Serafino muttered something and Killian went without complaint. Malik went too, though more hesitantly. 

As soon as the door shut the captain grabbed for the bucket. 

Sol handed it to him, taking the pitcher of water and his bag to the table across the room while Zev wretched. As much as he’d have liked to be next to the man as he suffered, he knew he wouldn’t appreciate or, more importantly,  _ allow _ the care. As long as he wasn’t falling over, Sol would let him hurl in semi-privacy. 

When the heaving faded to soft cursing, he returned to the bedside, glass of water and a damp cloth in tow. He proffered both. Zev scowled at him and then winced. “I’m wet enough as it is,” the man muttered, listing sideways. 

“To rinse your mouth with,” he sighed, steadying him with a light touch before indicating the bucket still clutched in white-knuckled hands. “Let me hold that.” 

Zev complied with some reluctance and sat still and sleepy while Sol inspected his head more closely. The man’s skull didn’t appear to be fractured and the gash the dock had left in his skin was superficial. 

“No stitches needed,” he announced softly, warming his hands and gently running them through the man’s hair, checking again for other injuries. The captain hummed and leaned into the touch. “Do you hurt anywhere else?” The question was more to refocus himself than to draw an answer from his patient. It was  _ very _ hard to remain professional with the star of his wet-dreams purring beneath his fingertips. 

“No.”

“I’d like to check to be sure. Let’s get your clothes off.”

“Well,” the elf tipped his head, lips attempting a smirk, “a little forward, aren’t we?”

He may have said something witty in response had the man not immediately switched from smug to panicked. Sol retrieved the bucket and this time dared to place a comforting hand on his back as he spat bile. He took the opportunity to analyse the captain’s breathing, listening for rattling and feeling for shuddering where it didn’t belong.

When that earned him no reprimand, he dared further, and knelt to untie the captain’s boots. He’d imagined being in this position many times, though there was never a bucket between them, nor a puddle of water wetting his trousers knees. It seemed the fates were out to ruin all of his fantasies today. 

Sol had managed to remove one boot before the captain realized he was being catered to and inched the other away from his hands. “I can do that.”

Instead of arguing, he nodded and relinquished the boot-string he’d managed to snag. It may be easier to let the captain learn his lesson early rather than have to fight him later, so he conceded and stalked over to the wardrobe,all the while keeping Zev in his periphery. 

The man had set the bucket aside and was just staring at the floor as if it were as wide and ominous as the open sea. If it had been anyone else, Sol would have left them to it. In honesty, there wasn’t much else he could do for a concussion other than suggest proper rest, but, not surprisingly, his bedside manner had increased by leaps and bounds. This was, of course, because he was hopelessly enamoured and not at all due to the lingering terror of having heard only silence where the man’s heartbeat should have been less than twenty minutes ago.

He took a slow breath and tried not to see the faces of all the other pulseless men he’d witnessed in his life. Piles and piles and piles. Lifeless limbs. Torn open innards. 

They were horrific, the memories, and yet he would much rather hyper-analyze them than the reason behind their dredging up. Because if Zev’s near miss could shake him this badly, what wreckage would his actual end bring? Sol didn’t think he’d withstand it.

Opening the cabinet, he sifted through the captain’s clothes, all of which smelled like Zev, like leather and tea-leaves. “Where are your underwear?”

He got a stilted shrug in response. 

“Do you want a dry tunic, at least?” He turned, garment thrown over his arm. “It--” 

Zev chose that moment to brave the distance between himself and his boot, which abruptly proved an ill-fated journey. 

Sol moved fast, but only  _ just _ managed to save the captain from a nose-dive. Alternatively, the man wound up in his arms, face pressed into his solar-plexus and hands clutching the back of his shirt. 

His first instinct was to push him, and every overwhelming emotion that had come with him, away, but when Zev exhaled softly, contentedly, as if being held was the only doctoring he needed, Sol couldn’t bring himself to move. It’d been a very long time since Sol had been embraced, fully clothed, with no intent behind it but closeness.

He did not like realizing how much he liked it.

“Captain?” he murmured, more breathily than intended.

“Dizzy.”

Yeah. Sol knew the feeling. “You need to lie down.”

“You’re warm.”

“Yes, well, you would be too, if you’d have let me help you get into dry clothes.”

Malik’s voice and the creak of the door sounded in unison. “Doc, I brought...” the boy blinked, shut his mouth, opened it again. ”Ulrich made-- uhm… the stuff. The painkiller.” 

Zev’s bemused laughter rumbled against his stomach and every thought in Sol’s head fluttered away. This left both he and Malik staring at one another for an agonizingly long span of seconds.

Shockingly, it was the captain that recovered first. The man sat up and Sol felt stolen from. “Set it on the table, kiddo.”

Malik did as he was told and then hovered, hesitant. “Do you-- was that all?”

Sol heaved Zev back onto the bed as the man smiled and told the boy he could go, all while sounding  _ perfectly  _ coherent.

His temper flared at the idea of having been made a fool of. He’d had his feelings toyed with from birth and would  _ not _ suffer the same now or ever again. “Are you fucking with me?” The words were accompanied by a small puff of smoke from his nostrils.

Zev huffed and eased onto his side, fingers fumbling to unbutton his pants. “No, but if you could help me with my pants, that’d be great.”

Composure thrown overboard, his tongue worked quicker than his brain. “I thought you’d never ask.” 

The captain’s hands stilled and his body relaxed into the mattress. Sol might have thought he’d swooned if not for the sultry gray gaze boring into his own, tired but lucid. “Didn’t think you’d say yes.”

“I’m not one to disobey orders,” he replied, reaching down and undoing the man’s trousers with deft expertise, “ _ captain _ .”

“As enticing as that sounds,” Zev snorted, “there’s five of you right now and I’m not sure I’m up to the challenge.”

Sol’s pulse was in his ears. His annoyance had mingled with desire, making it impossible to parse out which had escalated his blood pressure. He’d let Zev play his games. He’d let him flirt and prank and pester him for years, always waiting,  _ wishing, _ for the moment the man would present him with something so solid it couldn’t be over-analyzed away, something that would ring unquestionably true.

This was not that.

Perhaps that moment was one only obtainable in his day-dreams. That was fine. Sol had found that the majority of his wants were like that.

He moved Zev’s hands aside and cautiously shucked his pants down well-toned thighs. There was a sizable bruise blooming on the man’s left knee, another casualty of the fall. Zev flinched when he touched it so Sol left it for later, after painkiller and a rest. 

“Now the tunic,” he directed, sitting down on the bedside and sliping an arm beneath the man’s shoulders.

The man grumbled but could do little more than that as Sol helped him sit up. Wrestling out of the wet fabric was made harder by the head-injury. If he’d had his way, Sol would have simply cut the thing away had the captain not proclaimed it to be his favorite. And  _ of course _ Sol had let the man have his way. By the time they managed it, Zev was gray in the face and listless. 

Deciding against the dry tunic, Sol eased the other man back down into the pillows and pulled the blanket up to his chest. Zev allowed all this in silence, eyes closed and hand resting over his forehead as if the weight could hold the world in place. 

“Do you need the bucket again?” He received the faintest shake of the man’s head in response. “I have a mixture Ulrich made. It’ll help with the pain.” 

He stepped away, intent on fetching said liquid, but the fleeting brush of fingertips on his forearm stalled him. “Captain?” 

Zev’s eyes were half-lidded, lips parted, arm out-stretched over the mattress in Sol’s direction. Sol took a slow breath. That look bled affection, pleaded for intimacy, but Solyce needed words and clear intentions. He wouldn’t get that from Zev and especially not while concussed. 

When he turned away again, he heard the bed creak.

“I’m not leaving,” he sighed. “Lay still.”

Sol was careful to avoid looking in the captain’s direction as he sifted through his bag. He needed a few moments to sort himself, time to compartmentalize the events of the day and damn up all the feelings that were beating at his brain. 

He moved mechanically, mixing herbs, gathering ointment, sorting bottles and ringing out rags. He even took the time to gather a few candles despite it being broad daylight. Perhaps their present on his bedside table would assuage Zev’s blatant fear of being left alone. Sol would sit with him all night, because that was his job, and honestly, his pleasure. 

_ Or. _

Or he could just say as much and not do to the captain what was being done to him.

“I’m going to sta--”

“Did I do something wrong?” 

Sol paused mid-turn, the drip of water from the rag in his hand the only sound between them. He’d neve heard the captain sound so dejected. 

“Besides not using the gang-plank? No,” he hummed, hoping the dig would push the conversation into their normal back and forth. “Why?”

“You never want to talk to me.”

“What do you mean? You’re in my cabin twice a day,  _ at least _ .”

Zev’s response was the shifting of blankets and a soft, annoyed huff. 

_ And that _ , he thought,  _ was why they didn’t talk.  _

Luckily, his job didn’t require conversation beyond the relevant  _ where does it hurt,  _ or  _ how long has it been that color _ ?

Solyce returned to the bedside to find their fearless leader curled on his side, heel of his hand pressed to his forehead and broad, bare shoulders on display. He took a second to admire the creamy expanse and follow the lines of a few pale scars with his eyes before proceeding.

“Captain,” he leaned in and pushed hair from the man’s forehead. “I’d like it if you waited a while before sleeping, if you can.” 

“I can do that,” the man murmured, “but you’ll have to distract me from the pain.” 

His gut soured. It was too hard.  _ This _ was too hard. He’d done so well hardening his heart against things like this, against the hollowing in his chest and the pitfall in his innards. People got injured, they bled and suffered and died. All the time. Everyday. 

But Zev wasn’t people. 

“I have medicine for that,” he breathed. “I’m sorry, I should have given it to you earlier.” Instead, he’d been ogling and joking and pining like a fucking idiot. “I’m sorry.” 

“Stop that.” 

Solyce pulled his hand back, having been reaching to put numbing ointment on Zev’s head. “Sorry. I can leave it with you.” His face felt hot and his thoughts were all happening at once. “Or I can go ashore and find someone with healing abilities. I can’t really do anything else.” 

“Not what I meant.” 

“Then what  _ did _ you mean?” he barked. “Telepathy is on that long list of magic I don’t process.” 

Zev flinched, the volume no doubt causing him  _ more _ discomfort. He felt the all too familiar stab of anxiety in his chest and immediately tried to take the deep breath that he’d known his lungs would reject. 

_ Not now. Not now. Not now. _

“Sorry,” he bit out, placing both feet firmly on the floor, elbows on his knees. “You’ll need to take it easy for a few days. I’m sure Malik won’t mind keeping you company.” 

The air was too heavy. 

There were people begging him to save them in the back of his head, screaming in order to compete with the harsh voices of his parents berating his every move. And then there was Zev laying, unbreathing, on the deck. If his injuries had been any worse there would have been nothing he could have done. 

And now he was just sitting here losing his whole goddamned mind like the worthless piece of shit he—

Strong arms lassoed his waist and everything stopped. “Solyce.” Zev’s voice was soft but commanding. “Breathe.” 

“Sorry.” He tried to get up but the captain did not relinquish his hold. 

“I want you to stay.”

He wanted to ask why. He also wanted to get up and leave. He wanted to go find a rock to crawl under. What he did was blurt, “you fucking scared me. Your heart stopped.”

“I know,” Zev mumbled. “I’m an idiot.”

“An idiot with a headache,” he breathed.

The captain hummed in agreeance. “Fix it.”

And just like that the world settled. 


End file.
